


A Decent Proposal

by athousanderrors



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-04
Updated: 2007-03-04
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousanderrors/pseuds/athousanderrors
Summary: This is a little taster for a fic me andmaverick0324are working on. *grin*





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trust me, this will all make sense eventually...

  
“Jones!” Ianto’s eyes snapped to the front, perfect salute as his heels clicked together.

“Sir!” His eyes flicked to his superior’s face for a moment, lines of strain visible in his features. It had been a long day; for all of them.

“West Wing. Patrol, make sure no civilians are wandering about. Go.” Saluting again, Ianto turned and marched out of the room that his Captain had taken over, walking smartly down the corridor towards the west wing of Torchwood House.

They’d been there since just after the Doctor and Rose Tyler had departed, travelling up on the train to relieve their comrades, routine for them. But they’d found chaos. So now the army was being mobilised, Torchwood House turned into some kind of base, some way of tracking the threats which Her Majesty had spoken at length about, whilst revealing nothing at all.

Ianto’s first time away from Penarth, and he was walking the draughty halls of a great house in Scotland, just in case – what? There was talk amongst the servants; werewolves, of all the bloody stupid things…Sighing, Ianto shook his head, pushing the idle gossip he’d heard from his mind.

It didn’t do, to frighten himself over nothing but ghost stories and shadows. Didn’t need any help in a place like this, did he? Plenty of dark corners and mysterious noises without adding to them. He checked room after room after room, quick glances around each before moving on to the next.

Until the library. He could read – his Da had seen to that, making sure he had more of a chance than his friends, could support his family. And by God, he’d never seen so many books in one place. He couldn’t help but gasp, taking his cap off and setting it on the table, gun propped against a chair as he ran reverent hands over the spines of the books.

The look on his face was one of utter glee, fingers nearly trembling as he pulled out one volume, then another, stroking the covers, lifting the open books to his face, inhaling the musty smell of old glue, stitchings and paper. He carefully looked through book after book, returning each to it’s proper place, grasp on each loving and gentle, almost afraid to breathe too hard near them. There was still glass over the floor, crunching underfoot, as he picked a few shards out of the books that had been lying on the desk.

So enraptured was he with the books, that he didn’t even realise he was being watched.

“Fascinating collection, isn’t it? Our husband always spoke very fondly of Lord MacLeish’s books…”

Ianto jumped, blanched, and span around. “Y-yes, ma’am.” He stuttered, snapping to attention, saluting the Queen.

“At ease, dear boy. One was merely looking for some company. What’s your name?” She sat down on the chair beside the large mahogany desk, hands folded primly in her lap.

“Jones, ma’am. Ianto Jones.” Ianto swallowed hard, not really sure what to say, how to act. He’d never been spoken to by the Queen before, ever. It was…a little disconcerting.

“And you’re from Wales, yes?” At his nervous nod, she smiled. “Well, Master Jones, we think we may have a job for you. You can read, we take it? And write?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I worked as a clerk for a law firm back home before I joined up.” Ianto murmured, shifting from foot to foot.

“Excellent. Follow.” She stood, sweeping out of the room without bothering to check if Ianto was following – which he was, hurriedly jamming his cap back onto his head, carrying his gun as he jogged to catch up with the Queen.

“Mr Thornton?” The Queen addressed one of her advisors, who looked just about ready to tear his hair out.

“Yes, your Majesty?” He bowed, eyes flicking to the young soldier standing behind the Queen, wondering what on earth he was doing there.

“We have found an archivist for you. Master Jones here seems fascinated by the MacLeish library. We think you’ll find him most capable.” Nodding to Ianto, she turned, and swept out of the room, leaving two rather gobsmacked subjects behind her.


End file.
